


Small Things

by Nope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-10
Updated: 2003-06-10
Packaged: 2018-12-23 11:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11988594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: Peter's learnt to survive.





	Small Things

Bolingbroke was still burning when the storm broke and the rains came hissing down, spitting as they struck the circle of broken ashy ground, pelting the locked corpses of Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort, still struggling for dominance even in death. The rain soaked the brittle grass, falling in whispering waves through the tall yellow stalks and drenching Peter Pettigrew as he clawed his way out of the soil, blood slick, mud slimed and gasping for breath.

Thunder rumbled out of the heavy sky, deep sounding, bone shaking; Peter shivered and turned away, away from these dead grounds, this blackened battlefield, away from the distant hisses and crackles of hexes and curses, away from the terrified bellowing of doomed men. Let them fight on, foolishly endless. Peter, at least, knew to desert a sinking ship. Setting his back to the storm, hunched and slipping against the pushing rain, he ran.

And less than a hundred yards from where he'd first fallen, his feet betrayed him. Grass gave way to mud bank, to sliding and falling, to an abrupt hardness of old stone and a bone jarring bounce, to open space. Peter tumbled, watching the sky wheel with something approaching amusement. The thick slap of water he was almost too wet to feel gave way to numbing contact with icy concrete.

Stunned, he drifted in the current, face up to the rain. The water curled around him, under him, lifting and pushing and turning until the sky was eclipsed by a lip of dark stone. Peter wearily pulled himself out to the sewer tunnel's shallows and collapsed, half in and half out of the stream. Red ribbons trailed away from him, vanishing into the churn beyond. 

He lay there for some unknown while, time dissolving in the constant white noise of rain on water, the burble of drains in the darkness, before voices came echoing down to him. Loud barking, seemingly overhead, roused him and Peter struggled up onto his feet. The echoes faded, but he could not remain here and he would not go back, to either side, to be labelled traitor and suffer all that came with that name. Looking back once at the lights beyond the tunnel mouth, he limped down into the darkness.

There was no time underground, only distance, only monotonous movement, one front in front of another, on and on until Peter finally found and took a side tunnel that sloped upwards. The central stream was small, but the tunnel narrowed as it rose and the stone quickly grew soaked and slippery. The lichen light that had marked his path so far became steadily dimmer as he rose, the tunnel smaller and the air thicker, till he was squeezing through a darkness too tight to even consider retreat.

Straining for breath, scrabbling for purchase, he pushed himself up and up. His muscles screamed and ached and his lungs burned and strange colours floated behind his eyelids and still he moved, up and up, clawing at the walls as he forced his way through, until, without warning, he was suddenly falling out into streaming light.

He twisted away from the sudden brightness, blinking till he could see through the still fading afterimages. Golden sunlight was sneaking down between the bars of a vertical iron grating. Peter stopped just outside its reach, watching dust motes glitter in the beams, sniffing the air. The sewer stench lingered on him but from outside he caught the faint scent of sweetly tempting fresh air. Still he hesitated, listening. A distant bird whistled. Otherwise, all was silent.

Before he could stop himself, Peter darted forward, shivering at the sudden heat, squeezing between the bars, breathing out as he pushed and struggled until he felt something give, a sudden sharp heat in his chest and then he was free, outside, bounding up a gravel slope to look out between stalks of bright green at the world spread before him.

It was a large and well groomed garden. Daffodils waved in the gentle breeze under the apple tree. Following the edge of the neatly trimmed lawn, Peter was delighted to find a small stone birdbath filled with fresh, sun warmed water. He ducked his head over and over until he was as clean as he was going to get, then jumped up onto a handy flat stone to sun himself.

The heat made him drowsy and he had been drifting in and out of sleep long enough to dry out when he suddenly felt eyes on him. Raising his head, Peter was startled to meet the wide gaze of a young boy, who was watching him intently. Peter turned to flee when a mouth-watering scent hit him and brought his nose around of its own accord. The boy was kneeling, holding out a small piece of just cooked bacon.

Peter hesitated but his stomach won out, and he jumped down, approaching the boy cautiously. The boy tossed the bacon bit and Peter darted forward, snagged it before it reached the ground and nibbled delightedly until it was gone, licking his hands clean.

"Cool," breathed the boy, holding out another piece and then letting out an amazed gasp when Peter came to eat it out of his hand.

"I'm Danny, what's your name?" asked the boy. Startled, Peter took a backwards step and then suddenly he was off the ground, hands carefully surrounding him, holding him eye to eye with Danny. "Aww, hey, you're missing a claw. Maybe I'll call you Lefty. You like that, Lefty?"

Peter considered, thinking: Peter, Wormtail, Scabbers... Lefty? He nodded his head.

"Hey, you're a smart fella, aren't you?" Danny opened his hands and giggled when Peter ran up his arm to perch on his shoulder with his front paws in Danny's hair. "Oh, wow! Cool! This is going to be so perfect!"

Peter nibbled happily at Danny's hair, thinking of a shoebox to sleep in and all the bacon rind he could eat.

It would be perfect indeed.


End file.
